Déjà vu.
It was all Jenna could think. She had already lived the scene two months before. Why was she in it again?
There was that all-encompassing aura of hospital. Antiseptic odors. Soft beeps and hisses. The squish of rubber soles against linoleum. Harsh lights. Muted voices.
ICU.
There were differences, though.
Kevin waited on the other side of those doors, not Amber.
Jenna was family, no fudge factor necessary.
Danny sat beside her, not her parents.
Outside the walls lay Germany, not her hometown. She’d never visited the country, had never intended to. The November day was frigid and overcast.
The nurse Sammie said, “You don’t know yet?” She wore her black hair in a tight bun. Compassion poured from eyes of liquid gold. Her posture had military written all over it. Insignia lined her blouse.
Jenna shook her head. No, they didn’t know any details about Kevin yet except that he was alive and on the other side of those doors.
Danny said, “We feel like we’ve been given the runaround.”
“I’m sorry. It can seem like that at times. Overall, your husband is doing very well. I talked with him, and his attitude is fantastic. He wanted to stay awake until you got here, but the pain got pretty intense, so we upped his medication.”
A shudder went through Jenna. Kevin didn’t do meds. For him there was no such thing as intense pain.
Sammie said, “He’s heavily sedated at the moment, but you’ll be talking to him in no time. Technically, he’s in stable condition, but we want to keep a close eye on him tonight. His trip here on top of everything . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Jenna leaned against Danny. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Gone was the Tigger-like kid of their youth. He was a solid rock for her, guiding them steadily through a maze of airports, planes, a strange city, a military base . . . It seemed that with each passing mile they had both matured.
Danny said, “Technically, what exactly is ‘everything’?”
Sammie took a breath. “Kevin lost a leg in the blast.”
A whimper sounded from Jenna’s inmost being.
The nurse went on. “The left one. It was severed at the time of impact just below the knee. The doctors in Baghdad amputated at midthigh. Mrs. Mason, he will walk again with a prosthetic. He will run and play ball and do everything again.”
The woman faded from view as images of her big, strong, muscular, athletic Kevin filled her mind, a gangly piece of plastic hanging from his thigh. How could he ever do the same things? Be the same man?
Danny said, “What are his other injuries?”
Other? Dear God.
Sammie said, “There was no trauma to the brain, which is a major blessing. His left side received shrapnel. His arm sustained third-degree burns. These are all wounds that will heal.”
Jenna moaned. “His left arm?”
“Yes.”
“His tattoos.”
“Ma’am?”
“His tattoos. Are they still there?”
“I-I’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t seen beneath the dressing.”
She cried softly. Kevin loved his tats. The USMC one had already been in place when she first met him. A more recent, small one engraved near it was in memory of a young man killed in the war. She had fussed like a crazed woman over its addition.
Danny said to the nurse, “What about his back?” He stretched an arm to the back of his shoulder. “His shoulders. Any injuries there?”
“No.”
Danny laid his chin atop Jenna’s head. “Then he’s still got the one, Jen,” he whispered. “The one he would say is the most important.”
Danny referred to the “JEN” across Kevin’s shoulders in large calligraphy. When Kevin had it done without her knowledge, they had argued hotly over it . . . over the definition of art . . . over the expression of love.
What a stupid thing to argue about. What an idiotic thing to harbor ill will toward.
She sobbed.
The nurse led them into Kevin’s room.
Jenna held tightly to Danny’s hand and entered.
Tubes. Wires. Bags. Monitors. Machines. Hissing. Beeping.
She was on Kevin’s right side. She moved nearer the bed, Danny next to her, their hands entwined.
Kevin’s body dwarfed the bed. His arms lay atop a white blanket, the left wrapped, the right with IV tubes taped into place. A short-sleeved hospital gown covered his neck and chest.
He wore his troubled expression, the space between his brows creased into a vertical line. He’d had a haircut recently. The buzzed blond hair was nearly invisible. It was evident in his face that he had lost weight. His skin was dark and shiny against the white pillow cover.
How had he described the desert conditions? “It’s a freaking spa here, Jen,” he wrote once in an e-mail. “You’re going to love my new look—120 degrees and sandblasting wind have done wonders. Got a tan to die for, no trace of love handles, and the free microdermabrasion treatments are bee-utifying my complexion.” She still remembered the smiley faces he’d added.
She studied his form outlined under the blanket. Chest, torso . . . right thigh, right knee, right calf, right foot. A thick bulge on his left side.
Jenna let go of Danny’s hand and walked around the bed.
She touched the emptiness below Kevin’s left thigh. She bent over and pressed her lips to what remained of his leg, hoping the kiss would penetrate through the hard cast. “Love you, Kev,” she whispered.
She walked back around to his other side and touched the bed. The narrow lane between him and the edge would be enough. She turned halfway and scooted her hip onto it.
“Ma’am—”
“I’m lying down with my husband.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, you can’t—”
“I am lying down with my husband.”
Danny said, “Nurse, please?” His face was wet with tears. “For a moment?”
Jenna stopped listening. She climbed onto the bed, careful of the tubes in his arm. She settled on her side against him, tucking one arm beneath herself, carefully laying the other across his stomach.
Someone stood behind her, steady against her back. It would be Danny, propping her up, keeping her from falling.
She whispered, “I’m here, Kevin. We’re going to be all right. We’re going to be just fine.”
She continued to talk, telling him about the trip with Danny, about the whole family, about Skylar, about Miranda and the other wives. She teased him about wanting a medal, about the idiotic way he chose to get an early out.
He could hear her, she knew.
She would keep on talking until she saw his gorgeous sky-at-dusk blue eyes twinkle at her . . . until she heard him call her “pretty lady.”